


needed me

by mayaschuyler



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aftercare, Begging, Blindfolds, Choking, Cock Tease, F/M, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Punishment, Smut, there's some unexpected feelings towards the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 16:23:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6336001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayaschuyler/pseuds/mayaschuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>She smiles politely as she’s let into the elegant apartment, red bottomed pumps clicking on the freshly polished floor. Loosening the silk scarf on her neck as she passes through the opulently decorated living area, a thrum of excitement ripples through her. She knows that he’s expecting her, is almost mad at herself for falling into this obvious trap.</i><br/>____</p><p>Thomas misbehaves on national television. Eliza reminds him what happens to boys that act out...</p>
            </blockquote>





	needed me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [holograms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/gifts).
  * Inspired by [An Unconventional Relationship](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5838196) by [holograms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/pseuds/holograms). 



> so. this is absolute fucking filth. i've had this idea floating around in my head (along with many other filthy thomas/eliza ideas) and i came down with a mild flu this week. too much spare time + rihanna's album + watching edging videos on pornhub = this.
> 
> shoutout to the amazing holograms for creating my obsession with this ship. i gifted it to you and put "an unconventional relationship" (though "double negative" could count too) as an inspired by work because, well, it's true. you inspired this glorious filth!
> 
> ps. please forgive me if it feels disjointed. i wrote it over the course of a few days whilst trying not to die from the flu.

She smiles politely as she’s let into the elegant apartment, red bottomed pumps clicking on the freshly polished floor. Loosening the silk scarf on her neck as she passes through the opulently decorated living area, a thrum of excitement ripples through her. She knows that he’s expecting her, is almost mad at herself for falling into this obvious trap.

She’d been at the orphanage, in between meetings with Very Important People and drafting donor letters when the television in her office caught her attention. A familiar voice, that unmistakable sultry drawl, floating from the speakers and immediately pulling the brakes on her train of thought. She’d flipped the felt tip pen between her fingers (a fancy she’d learned from _him_ , of all people) and watched as he’d sauntered around the floor of the Senate, throwing shots at Senator Burr over his typical lack of a concrete stance on some bill. Pink lips pursed as she’d watched him become increasingly frazzled, curls shaking about, his crisp, white dress shirt slowly wrinkling from him constantly crossing and uncrossing his arms. His deep blue jacker had been long forgotten and she could see the muscles in his arms tense every time Burr responded as calm and even as ever. After nearly sixty seconds of back and forth, he’d exploded, harshly ripping his glasses off of his face and using that same hand to jab a finger at Burr, voice dangerously uneven. For a moment, her heart had nearly stopped and she feared he would become violent, but he kept his venom neatly laced in words, only stopping when the Speaker finally banged her gavel and attempted to regain control of the now blustering floor. 

A twist of arousal and heat had burned in her as she saw him breathe heavily, Madison stepping forward to put a frail hand on his shoulder and gently lead him away. She’d stared at the screen for a few more moments, pen still lightly tapping the piece of monogrammed parchment on her desk. As the excitement died down, the Senate had moved onto a new issue, a desperate attempt to bring back some semblance of organization and professionalism. The droning of voices and names faded into the background as she’d breathed deeply, willing her body to slow down.

She hadn’t known how much time had passed when her phone buzzed twice. Breathing sharply, she pulled it closer to peer at the screen, one lone message displayed.

 **From:** Thomas  
**1:39 pm**

_I’m sorry._

Eliza’d clicked her tongue, shutting phone off and slamming it into the drawer with more force than was necessary. She wasn’t worried about missing calls; if anyone needed her that badly they’d call her assistant, Maria. Closing her eyes, she counted backwards from twenty in French and took one last deep breath. She’d called Maria, asked her to bring some lunch by and went back to her draft. She had another meeting in an hour and then she’d be done for the day. She’d probably stop at home first, check in on the kids, make sure homework was being completed and no one was hurt or on the brink of death. Then she’d stop by and see him.

“‘Sorry’,” she’d scoffed, shaking her head. “Not one bit.”

And now she was here. Making her way down the long stretch of hallway towards his home office. He was staying in his DC penthouse, wanting to be a bit closer to work now that the threat of a government shutdown was looming so dangerously. He was stressed and today’s incident had been a cry for help. He knew she’d get word of it, whether or not she’d be able to witness it live. It was just like him to go out of his way to get what he wanted instead of simply _asking_ for it. She’d almost had it in her mind to deny him what he wanted, to go about her evening pretending he wasn’t sitting at home, anxiously awaiting for her to help numb his mind. But denying him would also be denying herself this pleasure. And _she_ certainly didn’t deserve that.

The door to his office is wide open, his large frame bent over the desk. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the same shirt from earlier now unbuttoned and completely disheveled. His hands typed furiously at the Macbook in front of him, the light from the display casting sharp shadows on his face. As she drew closer, she saw his hands freeze, nimble fingers posted over the keys in midair. Her heels clicked evenly, her pace remaining as even and poised as it was before. She saw him look up, swallowing thickly as he slowly closed the laptop and his eyes met hers. He removed his glasses and she felt a tug in her chest at the clear exhaustion in his eyes. Still, her poker face stays put and she finally ( _finally_ ) stands tall in the doorway.

“Thomas.” He stands.

“Eliza,” his voice is eerily soft and it makes her feel all the more powerful.

“ _Ma’am_ ,” she corrects, stepping in. She carefully lays her purse on the deep purple loveseat, carefully removing her coat to lay it over the armrest. The scarf is still draped over her neck and she sees him glance at it quickly. 

“I’m sorry. Ma’am,” he added quickly, fidgeting a bit. His eagerness was palpable, but she refused to give in more than she already had. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you, Thomas?” She undoes the top button of her blouse and pulls her dark hair out of its tie, combing through it casually with her fingers before tying it back again in a loose bun. “Because I don’t think you are.” _Clack, clack._ She moves a few steps closer, standing directly across from him over the large antique desk. Even with the added height of her shoes, he claims a good four, five inches on her. “Because intuition tells me that little outburst earlier was no spur of the moment decision.” “Little outburst” is an understatement. The media had been having a field day, clips of Thomas’ angry shouts on a loop across every television station nationwide, images of the normally suave Virginian senator blowing his top plastered across every social media platform’s “Top Stories” tab. It’s a mess, a sweet entertaining distraction from the inevitable shutdown. It’ll die down in a few days, the 24 hour news cycle promptly wringing all the fun and publicity out of it before returning to the regular schedule of fear mongering. They both know there are little to no longterm effects to worry about, not with the current circus acts in American politics standing on their heads for the whole world to point and laugh at.

Still. She knows he’s embarrassed. Knows that he’ll scrub at any stain he finds until his fingers are raw.

“Maybe.” She starts briefly at the response. “Maybe not. But it still got you here.” He’s smirking at her, no hint of his previous bashfulness anywhere on his face. Eliza bites her tongue, tries to ignore the growing ache between her legs. His break in character is that final push they both need.

“Strip, Thomas.”

Instantly, his hands move to finish the remaining buttons on his shirt, discarding it on the floor and his undershirt soon joins it. He moves to undo his belt when she lifts a hand. He freezes and she makes no secret of how intently she’s ogling his body. Walking around the desk, invades his personal space, so close she can feel the heat radiating off of his body. He stands still, still facing forward until she reaches up and runs a smooth nail over his jawline and turns his face towards hers. She caresses his face, his facial hair tickling her fingers and moves them to his throat. Her pale hands contrast beautifully with his brown skin and she can’t help but wrap her hand around his throat, firm but not tight enough to cut off any air. Her nails are perfectly manicured, painted a raspberry shade and she curls her fingers, digging her nails into the soft, smooth flesh. She feels him whine more than she hears it and it makes her squeeze just so. He tries to swallow nervously, but her grip makes it difficult and this time he moans loudly, eyes fluttering closed.

And just like that, she releases him, chuckling at the soft noise of protest he emits. “Continue,” she instructs sharply, turning away and walking back to the loveseat so she can peer into her purse. As she absently rummages through the contents, she hears the belt buckle as it clatters to the floor, the rustling as he removes his pants, the hiss as he removes his underwear and the cold air hits his dick. She plucks a manila folder out of her purse and opens it, scanning the papers inside. One hand plays with the corner of the silk scarf still draped prettily around her neck. 

The anticipation drags on as she pretends to read what’s in front of her. She can feel his dark eyes on her, but makes no move to offer his any consolation. Licks her thumb, turns another page. After a couple of minutes, she starts pacing to quell the ache in her feet from insistent pressure due to lack of movement. The sound of her heels against the floor only fuels the tension.

She can sense him fidgeting again and bites the inside of her lip to hide her smile. The door is still wide open and he’s positioned so that anyone who enters the hallway would have a clear view of him stark naked. Not that anyone would come by. She knows him well enough to know the house staff has specific instructions not to enter this area of the apartment no that she’s here. But the thrill is still there, the excitement of knowing that if they _did_ come by, they would see him in all his glory and vulnerability.

A subtle glance at the clock on the wall tells her its been seven and a half minutes. She sighs and looks up at him. 

In the glow of the dim lighting, his skin looks magnificent. Flushed with a slight sheen of sweat, his dark nipples hard. His cock bobs between his legs, fully hard, the tip swollen and damn near purple. He has his hands clasped behind his back and she swells with pride knowing that he did that without instruction.

She silently puts the envelope on the desk and goes back to the purse, fishing out a bottle of lube and a blindfold. When she’s back at his side, she runs a hand down his arm feeling the thick, strong muscles. His breathing shallows and even she can’t stop the moan that builds up in her throat.

With a flourish, she sweeps the scarf off of her neck and has his wrists tied together behind his back. When she’s satisfied with the knot, she stands back and looks up at him, eyes boring into his. “Do you know what you’re being punished for, Thomas?”

“Y-yes,” his voice breaks and he clears his throat, blushing. “Yes, ma’am.”

She nods. “Tell me.”

“I’m being punished for what I did today on the Senate floor. For losing my temper and yelling in front of everyone.” He arms strain against the ties as she ties the blindfold over his eyes.

“Yes, you are. And for sending me that apology when you weren’t really sorry,” she sees him open his mouth to protest and grabs his dick, squeezing _hard_. Any words he was ready to speak dissolve into a pained groan. “Don’t deny it, Thomas. I know the truth. You weren’t sorry. _Aren’t_ sorry.”

“Please,” he whines. “I am. Really ma’am. I’m sorry.” Her grip tightens, but as soon as she sees his hips move to thrust forward, she lets go. _”God.”_

“I don’t believe you,” the cap on the lube snaps as she opens it and turns the bottle over, letting some drip onto her hand. “I don’t think you’re sorry. Not yet, anyways.” With a healthy amount on her palm, she puts the bottle down and rubs her hands together to warm the oil. “Sorry you got caught, maybe…” She rubs a slick finger over the head of his cock teasingly, idly pressing on the slit and he hisses. 

“Please. Please, ma’am. I’m sorry.” Eliza starts stroking him in earnest. “Please, I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Mmm. Say that again.” Her strokes quicken.

“I’ll be good, so good ma’am, please. I promise I’ll do better. I’ll be better for you. I swear.” Suddenly, her hand is gone and he finds himself fucking up into nothing. “No, please.”

“Hush, Thomas,” she chides harsher than necessary. She steps closer to him, voice lowering. “Do you want to come?”

“Yes.”

“How badly do you want it? Tell me.” She’s stroking him again, hand squeezing on every upstroke and teasing the head on the downstroke.

“So bad. I’ll do anything, God, a-anything.” Thomas’ hips match her pace, a slow steady rhythm. She can feel his dick twitching in her palm. “I-I’m close,” he chokes out.

“Hmm, we can’t have that can we?” And with one last squeeze, her hand is gone again and he twitches wildly, muscles spasming almost violently. Eliza sees his face contort and almost growls. “Don’t you dare come, Thomas.”

His teeth are digging into his lip with such force, she’s surprised she doesn’t see blood. “I-I’m trying.”

Eliza bends to pick up his forgotten shirt, wiping the mess on her right hand on the fabric. “Do try harder, dear,” her tone is surprisingly gentle, even to her own ears. Even with him tied up, at her complete mercy, she can’t help but feel affectionate towards him. She wishes she could hold onto the cold, uncaring demeanor, but it simply isn’t in her nature. Eliza, always so sweet and empathetic. She sees him struggle and closes in on him again, using her clean hand to stroke his face lovingly. “Breathe, darling. In and out.” He gasps again. “Slowly. In.” She inhales. “Out.” She exhales. He tries again, better this time. “Good boy. Again.” 

When he’s finally calmed down, cock still straining but no longer on the edge, she pats his cheek sweetly. “Good boy,” she murmurs and kisses him sweetly. “Can you continue to be good for me?”

He licks his lips and forces his voice to work properly. “Yes.”

“‘Yes’ what?”

He groans. “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiles and nods, satisfied. “Good.” Her left hand, still slick with pre-come and lube, teasingly fondles his balls. “Now I have some work to attend to, but I want to you stand here like a good boy and wait for me to finish. Do you think you can do that for me, Thomas?” One stroke up.

“I-,” he stops suddenly and she sees him gnaw at his lip again. “I can try.”

“You can do more than try can’t you, love,” she squeezes him again. “Let’s try again: Do you think you can do that for me, Thomas? Yes or no?” One stroke down.

He swallows thickly. “Yes,” the confidence in his voice is soft, but certain. “I can do it.”

“Very good,” she pulls away, using the shirt to wipe of her other hand. When they’re sufficiently dry, she sits in the swivel chair and turns back to the desk. Emptying the content of the manila envelope onto the surface, she uncaps her pen, setting her draft from earlier further up on the desk and begins writing on a fresh sheet.

_To Whom It May Concern:_

For the next hour, she falls into a peaceful trance. Thomas’ steady breathing and the faint _tapping_ of her pen on the paper plays like a soothing, familiar lullaby. He’s not the only one who’s had a stressful day, Eliza’s face still sore from keeping an inviting grin on her features while she wined and dined some of the wealthiest beneficiaries in the country. She hated the politics of running a non-profit, wishes she could keep the orphanage up and running without having to smile in the faces of egotistical, pompous people who usually wanted nothing more than to have their last name’s attached to something important. Planting seeds to sow a legacy they wanted for nothing more than recognition. It’s why she insisted on having any and all donors come in to spend time with some of the children in private. No cameras, no press, no recognition. Just a day spent with children who society tried so desperately to cast aside without a second glance, to see that behind these walls and behind the names and fancy galas, there were people who needed this foundation. Children who relied on them to give them what any and every child deserved; a chance at a better life.

It was always worth it. She’d received hundreds of cards announcing graduations, marriages, births. Photos of beaming children, teens, young adults who’d gone on to do great things and find their path in life because they’d been shown that they could; that the world doesn’t get to choose your destiny for you.

_Sincerely,_

_Mrs. Elizabeth Schuyler-Hamilton  
Chairwoman of the Board of Directors_

She finishes the letter with a flourished signature and sits back, satisfied. Carefully returning all the items to the envelope, she clears off the desk, returning all the moved items to where they originally were, before returning to main task.

Thomas was still standing, posture impeccable, cock only at half mast. The serenity on his face tells her that he’s entered a particular headspace and she basks in the view, warmth spreading throughout her veins.

“Thomas,” she keeps her voice soft so as not to startle him, “you’ve done so well, darling. Are you ready for your reward?”

He hums as she runs a hand over his chest soothingly, tweaking his nipples. “Yes, ma’am.” Eliza reaches up to remove his blindfold, grateful the lighting is already dim enough that she doesn’t have to move and adjust it. “Thank you, ma’am,” he croons, eyes lazily fixed on hers. That arrogant aura is slowly seeping back into the room, but it’s been so long even she’s tired of waiting. Can’t even be bothered to chastise him. He knows she needs it just as much as he does.

She swings the chair around, perches on the edge, and starts reapplying lube to her hands. He steps forward, dick twitching in the air and she moans softly. “Beg for it.”

“ _Fuck_ , I need it. P-Please. Need it so much,” his hips thrust wildly, all shame completely dissipated. “Eliza, please.”

She grabs his cock, gathering leaking pre-come on the tip of her finger, “You sound so good begging for me. Say my name again.” She can’t help but rock on the seat a bit, languid thrusts rubbing against her clit _perfectly._

“Eliza, god, I want it so bad. Wanna come so hard for you,” Thomas rocks his head back, sweaty curls bouncing furiously. “Want you to make me come so hard I forget my own god damn name.” Her strokes get faster and they find a sweet rhythm, her hips rocking desperately in time with her hand. She hears him chuckle and looks up, eyes wide and shiny. “You wanna come too,” his tone is gravelly and straightforward and she keens, pushing her face into his hip. “God, you need it, don’t you? Probably need it more than I do.” 

“Jesus. Thomas,” Eliza’s voice is hoarse with arousal and she nips at his hipbone before soothing over the bite with her tongue. “Where do you want it,” she pulls back to look directly at him, pink tongue running over her lips dangerously slow.

“Shit! Your mouth. God, please. Eliza…” His hips are moving furiously, powerful thrusts making her hand slip. “I’m so close. Fucking Christ.”

“Mmm, come for me, baby. Come on, Thomas,” she’s leaning over his groin, the cool air of her breath hitting the tip of his cock. “Do it, Thomas,” she whispers before putting her lips over the head, suckling desperately.

“Oh, fuck _me!_ ” She feels him twitch wildly in her hand before a rush of warmth floods her mouth. It’s bitter and tangy and she whimpers as the wave of pleasure building in her belly crests. The hand not holding the base of his cock moves to grab the firmness of his ass, pushing him further into her mouth. She breathes through her nose, dark hair on his groin tickling her nose and she fights back a surprised cough. The warmth between her legs fades and the wet stickiness sets in. It’s the not the best orgasm she’s ever had, but it relieves enough of the tension to calm her fried nerves.

“Fuck,” she hears him whisper above her. He’s panting heavily, cock still dribbling when she pulls off. A few drops catch on her lip and she stares him down, alternating between rubbing the head over her lips and sucking more of the release she manages to milk out of him. He hisses with oversensitivity and she hollows her cheeks, sucking harder.

She milks him for another few seconds before he brokenly murmurs her name, the stimulation becoming too much. With one last suck, she pulls his now softening cock out with a sweet _pop!_ and smiles brightly at him.

He groans as she releases his hands from their bonds, joints popping as he slowly stretches. “Damn,” she senses his unsteadiness and helps him to the floor, leaning him so his back is against the wall, side pressed against the redwood bookshelf to his left. His skin is damp and she knows that the cool of the wall and shelf helps him collect his thoughts.

Removing her shoes, she kneels down to rest next to him, smoothing back his damp hair. “How are you feeling,” soft lips press against his forehead. “Want me to fetch you some water?”

He doesn’t answer right away, still trying to fill his lungs. “Yes, but,” a firm arm pulls her closer to him, “sit with me a while?” He’s curling into her side before he finishes his request, face buried in her hair and relishing in the sweet scent of strawberries and cucumbers. “You’ve been using the shampoo I bought for you,” he murmurs sleepily.

Eliza laughs. “I have. Alexander has too, though when I question him on why so much of it has been used already, he pretends to have no idea what I mean.”

His laugh ruffles a few stray strands on her head. “Of course he does. Typical Hamilton.” His long fingers press into her side, making the underwire of her bra dig into her ribs. She tightens the fingers still entangled in his hair. It’s a thing they tend to do after a session, a simple call and response to help the other work through the fog filling their mind. 

“Thank you,” his deep voice is so soft, she almost misses it if not for the rumbles in his chest. It’s a simple phrase, but the meaning isn’t lost on her. _I love you._

“Mm. Of course.” It’s what she says, but not quite what she means. _I love you, too._

**Author's Note:**

> i had an idea for an impregnation type fic for this ship earlier, so that's exactly where my headspace is at right now *climbs aboard the one way train to hell*


End file.
